


You, Me, and Some Feelings (Male! Reader x Deadpool)

by End_Of_The_World_Is_Here



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, M/M, Other, Rewrite, Tags May Change, Tbh the last version of this SUCKED, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/End_Of_The_World_Is_Here/pseuds/End_Of_The_World_Is_Here
Summary: REWRITE!Honestly, there's just so much going on in your life, you don't have time to worry about anything. Until your roommate gets killed for being a bad guy, and Deadpool keeps popping back into your life.You can't keep running away from your problems.





	1. There's Something On Your... Oh.

It was supposed to be easy; the target was a head of some nameless human trafficking ring, laying low in some shitty New York apartment. All he had to do was go in, take her out, and get rid of anyone who interfered. Standard procedure, minimum effort. That’s not what happened though…

Deadpool sat on the fire escape, looking into the small apartment. The target was within sight, sitting on the couch in her small living room, reading a book. Honestly, if he didn’t know what she was up to, he would’ve figured she was just another tumblr user with an emotional dependency on fictional characters. Oof.

He sat there for another 30 seconds before he got bored, and decided to act. “Let’s fucking do this.” Deadpool grinned as he broke the window and entered the room. “Hi!” the target was already on her feet, and took a swing at him with a knife she’d been hiding,

“Who the fuck sent you.” She spat, stabbing at him. He evaded, and aimed one of his pistols at her. 

“Someone who thinks you need better hobbies.” He looked at her, “I mean, human trafficking? Really? The author couldn’t think of anything better than that?” 

“The fuck?-” The target looked confused for a second before her face contorted in anger, and she swung at him again, damn near cutting his right arm off.

“Okay, this is bullshit. How did you manage to do that? It shouldn’t be that easy to cut an arm off! I’m filing a formal complaint.” He leveled the gun to her forehead, and she smiled,

“Vibranium motherfu-” He shot her. 

“Well then, that covers one plot hole.” He narrowed his eyes at his severed arm, which looked about to fall off. “Do I wanna wait for a new one, or just save this one?” The arm fell off, and landed on the floor with a sickening plop. He knelt down to pick it up.

By this point, the job was done, the apartment had a nice new bloodsplatter, and Deadpool was short one arm. And to add icing to this shit, all of the commotion woke up the target’s roommate! Yay. 

(Y/N) (L/N) was a 20-something, glasses-wearing, sarcastic-as-balls nerd of a guy. He tried to be normal, he really did. He just wasn’t really all that good at it, was he? He first discovered that he had superpowers when he was sixteen, as a side-effect of finals week stress. Because of the stress, he decided to wait to deal with it until after finals passed, and forgot about them.

Well, he didn’t exactly forget. He always had a nagging feeling that there was something he was supposed to have done, but he can’t remember what he’d forgotten. Real “rememberall” situation up in here. 

(Y/N) was a barista, and a college student, and he was completely uninvolved with any of his roommate’s shenanigans. Is shenanigans the right word? How about hijinks? Yeah, that’s better. Basically, he had no idea what was going on when he walked into his shared living room at 1am to find his roommate dead on the ground with a bullet to the brain, and a man in red spandex with one arm. 

“I… fuck.” (Y/N)’s face was white as a sheet, 

“Hi, I hate to be the one to tell you- not really- your pal over here,” Deadpool gestured to the corpse, “was doing some real bad shit. And if you were doing the same bad shit, you’re gonna regret it like she does.” He narrowed his eyes, (Y/N) looked confused,

“What did she do?” 

“Well, I guess it’s story time.” Deadpool stood up, abandoning his arm. The bleeding had slowed at this point, thankfully. Who even has white carpets? “She ran a human trafficking ring and all that. I’m getting paid to end it.” 

“Oh.” (Y/N) paused, glancing around the room, his gaze landed on Deadpool’s stump. “Do you want me to take a look at that? I’m a nurse-or- uh, I’m gonna be.” (Y/N) stumbled, having forgotten how to speak English for that moment.

Deadpool raised an eyebrow, “Really? I’ve seen a lot of reactions to this sort of thing, but this is a first.” 

“I’m not sure where I stand on the ‘not going to be killed’ scale, so I don’t wanna take any chances.” (Y/N) smiled shakily.

Truth be told, he’d barely known his roommate at all; Her name was Emma, and she was never home. That’s it. Nothing was off the table.

“Huh, sounds like a fun scale. And It’ll grow back soon.” Deadpool smiled, this kid was fuckin’ weird. 

“ S’ Still gotta hurt like a bitch.” 

“You’re not wrong, but I’m still gonna say no.” Deadpool paused, “I’m gonna clear out, cops are gonna be here soon.” 

“Uh, okay…” 

“What’s your name?” 

“(Y/N), you?” 

“Deadpool.” 

“Okay, cool.” (Y/N) looked at Emma’s body. “Gah, this isn’t gonna be fun to explain…” 

“Exactly!” Deadpool was already halfway out the broken window, when he waved, “See you soon, (Y/N)!” (Y/N) waved back and he was gone.

(Y/N) looked at where Deadpool had exited, and yawned. The sounds of sirens were getting closer, and (Y/N) looked back down to Emma’s body, which was contorted in rage. Fuck, he was too tired for this.


	2. When Life Gives You Lemons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. Back by the demand of Purple_Sharpie

When life gives you lemons, take a bite out of them while staring life straight in the eye to assert dominance. (Y/N) was certain that wasn't the actual saying, but it was the one he was sticking to, staring a bored looking cop straight in the eye with a shock blanket draped lazily over his shoulders. 

“Officer I told you, I went out there and she was already dead. Deadpool was there, but he left before I could actually talk to him. He just said that Emma was part of a human trafficking ring.” The cop nodded condescendingly, 

“Uh-huh, Deadpool. And you're still alive.” 

“Yeah, well I wasn't apart of it. Can I go get a hotel or something or do I have to email my professor that I won't be in class tomorrow.” The adrenaline was wearing off and (Y/N) was just kind of grouchy at this point. 

“Just leave us the address and your phone number so we can contact you with any questions.” 

“Thanks.” (Y/N) grabbed his backpack from where it sat on the ground next to him, putting it on over the shock blanket, bunching it up under the straps like some strange orange poncho. 

The nearest hotel was a ten minute walk from his quarantined apartment, and being mid-September, was about as deserted as New York got. 

He checked in and collapsed on the bed. 

 

(Y/N) never dreamed in color, not really. If he did, it never registered as being a color he recognized. It was always muted I-don't-know-what's, or neon how-the-fucks. But it was never real color, until he was upside down in a field of red. 

Opening his not-real eyes to what looks like a blood-red sky, only to realize that he was laying on his back in a field of red grass with a wide yellow sky, he thought something was up. 

Looking back, (Y/N) assumed something noteworthy must have happened in the dream that he forgot, but part of him thinks that he just sat in that red field for hours, thinking about nothing.

His alarm- some janky-ass romanian dit- pulled him out of that abyditand back into the fake-smelling reality that was his hotel room. 

He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off.

 

Class was boring, and work was boring, everything was boring and (Y/N) didn't even have the escape that his laptop brought him, since his dumb ass had forgotten it in the apartment when he rushed for his things in the five minutes before the police had arrived. 

So he sat, staring angrily at the TV in his hotel room, watching Star Trek because it was the only thing the BBC decided to play when Doctor Who wasn't on. 

There was that omnipresent itch at the back of his mind, the thing he was forgetting, it. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. ‘When did this shit start?’ All he could see was Deadpool's smug grin behind the mask. 

“FUCK.” he said, falling backwards onto the bed, glaring at the ceiling. 

“That can be arranged.” That fucker.

(Y/N) sat up quickly, his eyes landing on none other than Deadpool, who was sitting in the open window, just sort of looking at him. 

“Why- what are you doing here?” (Y/N) asked, turning to face his second-time home invader.

“Wanted to see if the Popo arrested you or not. Guess not.” 

“Yeah I kind of told them you did it.” 

“What?” Deadpool feigned horror, “You didn't take the fall for me?” 

“Bruh, I've met you once and you killed my roommate.” 

“Touché.” 

Deadpool climbed all the way into the room, katanas briefly getting caught on the window frame. He freed himself after maybe a second before sitting down next to (Y/N) with what he'd assume was a smile, 

“I'm thinkin’ burritos, what say you?” 

“Burritos?” (Y/N) questioned, turning his attention back to the screen because this may as well happen. 

“Yeah, do you not eat or somethin’?” 

“On occasion. Burritos sound fine. Taco Bell or should we get somewhere that won't kill the toilet?” 

“There's a food truck near here that makes a bomb-ass chimichanga.” 

(Y/N) grabbed his hoodie from where he'd thrown it on the bed. “You had me at truck.”

**Author's Note:**

> See? That's much better.


End file.
